


Postcards

by prosodiical



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Multi, Post-Canon, S3 Finale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6395611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly kills the Tooth Fairy, sticks postcards on her fridge, and is still in love with Will Graham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postcards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fenellaevangela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenellaevangela/gifts).



> I was totally inspired by your prompts for this ship - I hope you like this!
> 
> I took the divergence point a little earlier, mainly because I wanted Molly to have her moment of awesome again - but otherwise this follows on from S3.

Molly wasn't sure what she was expecting when she approached the house, her gun held low, but at the sound of a gunshot and shattering glass from inside, she hurried to the door.

It seemed like a second dragged out to infinity when she opened the door. Will's hand on his hip, reaching for his gun; the monster from her nightmares beside him as Molly's arms came up - she remembered Will's lessons like an instinct, his steadying hands on her arms as she sighted down a range and fired - and she pulled the trigger.

She didn't feel remorse for the way the Tooth Fairy's head shattered, bone and blood and brain on the floor, but first the disconnected distance of watching a gruesome movie death, then disquieted and shaken as reality slowly dawned. Molly choked and covered her mouth with her hand, swallowing down bile; this was the creature who had chased her and her son out of their home, who had dragged Will away like iron to a magnet, unwilling and unassailable - and now he was dead. She couldn't regret it.

Will's hand was on her wrist, the anchor she came back to. "Molly?" he said, and she looked at him, his face and clothing splattered with blood, and was simply glad she never had to see him torn and broken and dead. 

"I'm okay," she said, and swallowed once more. "I'm..."

"How did you find us?"

Molly couldn't mistake the foreign, accented voice as anyone else, and Will's gaze slid from her to the man still leaning against the piano, clutching his side: Hannibal Lecter. Will's hand slipped from her own and Molly wanted to grab him, wanted to - but she'd known what she was getting into, and this was the consequence. "I - your phone," she said, and fumbled the gun in her hands as she tried to gesture; Will was smiling, a little strangely, as he took her gun from her hands. "I put that app on it - "

"Oh, after I lost it after fishing - "

"Yeah," Molly said, smiling a little, and for just a moment Will was Will again, the one she knew and loved. But he'd said it himself - she'd changed, he'd changed - and all she could hope for now was that it didn't destroy them. She glanced over to Lecter, who was watching them blank-faced; Will followed her gaze and huffed a wry laugh.

"You remember I said I was going to do something stupid?"

Molly looked between them and said, slowly, "If I found you - they will, too."

Will met her gaze. She knew she didn't need to explain, that he could see the steadiness of resolve on her face, and he looked down to her gun in his hands and said, "Molly."

"It's okay," she said. "You should go."

When Will looked at Lecter it was like a world of understanding passed between them, and as Lecter rose to his feet Will pulled his own gun out of his holster and passed it to her, butt-first. Molly took it from him, clicking on the safety, and as he slid her gun into his own holster, safe against his back, she joked lightly, "So, is that a gun in your pocket, or...?"

Will laughed, and he looked so abruptly fond Molly felt her love for him like a brand new ache in her chest. "I am happy to see you," he said, and Molly smiled.

"I love you," she said, because this could be the very last chance she had to say it. He searched her face, his lips parting, and she smiled gently and put her hands on his chest, pushing him away. "Just - don't forget."

"I won't," Will said, and Molly exhaled and stepped away. When she was at the door she looked back: Will's dark head was facing away from her, bent over Hannibal Lecter's, but for just a second Lecter's eyes met hers. His gaze was alien, cold and assessing, and Molly wondered if she was making the right choice - and then he smiled. It was just a twitch of his mouth, the slightest incline of his head, but Molly knew it from Will, knew it for what it was, and she dropped her gaze and closed the door quietly behind her.

 

Molly found the first postcard in the mail on a Monday.

It was from Europe, a place she'd never been on the other side of an ocean she'd never really thought to cross, an oddly kitschy town picture in garish colors, 90's design. When she flipped it over, it had in a facsimile of Will's handwriting her name and their address, and a single sentence: _Wish you were here._

She thought she could see Will in the postcard, something he'd pick out just to be contrary, but Molly knew Will, knew the lines of his heart and the depths of his guilt and grief; knew that if he were ever to write a message to her, it would be first and foremost an apology. "Did we get mail?" Walter asked, as she turned the card over and over in her hands, looking at the postmark, the stamp, knowing even if she went to Jack they'd be long gone from where they had been, and Molly sighed and shook her head.

"It's just something from a friend," she said, and slid it under a magnet on the fridge.

There was another, of course, and another; not all had a message, and when they did it was as though the person on the other end was slowly giving up the pretense of Will's handwriting, his sharp jagged edges, messy script edging into a smoother, more formal cursive; the single line message evolving, expanding into something almost conversational. Molly wondered if it was Will who had told him she would know, or if it was a conclusion he came to himself, and slowly their fridge filled up with postcards from a world away. They spoke of nothing incriminating but of a life nomadic and luxurious, and Will was mentioned through the odd touches of a strange man so, so obviously in love. Molly found herself reading them when she woke in the night with panic grasping at her throat, found herself sitting at the kitchen table with the light dimmed low, finding solace in tracing Will's life through the words of a familiar stranger. 

There were words, and then a sketch: paper in an envelope with no words but a drawing of Will in profile, the line of his nose, the edge of his smile still obvious through the smudges from the rain. Molly folded it again and placed it in a drawer, safe for a time, and spent the afternoon looking through the old-fashioned photo albums she had put together last winter, when snow on the roads had made her fingers itch to be doing something. Walter came home from school to find her sitting on the couch, her eyebrows furrowed as she flipped through photos, and he said, "Mom?"

"Sorry," Molly said, and made to close the album in her lap - and then she saw the look on his face, a little strained and tired, worry sitting uneasily, and she smiled instead, patted the cushion next to her. "Did I show you these?" she said, and Walter brightened even as he rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, mom," he said, but he sat down next to her anyway, and Molly wrapped an arm around his shoulders as she shared the story of each photograph once more. They were still feeling out each other's edges; Molly kept a gun by the door, in the kitchen, on her bedside table and Walter was still prone to jumping at loud noises and waking in the night. But he'd stumbled in on her in the kitchen one night, lost in thought with a photo of them and Will and the dogs in her hands, and she'd made hot chocolate for the both of them, shared a blanket as a few of the dogs nosed sleepily, curiously by. They were getting better, slowly. It was what she had fought for, what she had nearly died for: her family, safe and happy. 

 

Jack Crawford had come by only once, a week after Dolarhyde's death. He'd stood by the door, hands in his pockets, watched Molly with old, tired eyes as she lowered the shotgun back to the stand by the door. "Would you like to come in?" she asked, not bothering to hide the reluctance in her voice. 

She didn't doubt that he heard it, but he nodded regardless, waving Molly's offer of coffee aside as he looked around the kitchen, studied the pictures on the shelves. "I'm sure you've heard by now," he said, "but the man we called the Tooth Fairy is dead." Molly kept a pistol in a half-open drawer in the cabinet, and Jack's eyes fell on the gun. "This is Will's?"

"His service pistol," Molly said, "yeah. I've heard."

Jack studied her, but she refused to be intimidated under his gaze. "The Tooth Fairy was shot in the head. We'd thought - but Will had another gun?"

Molly let herself smile, just a bit. "We have a few."

"I see," Jack said, and shook his head. "I'm here to let you know Will Graham's officially missing." 

Her hands over her mouth, Molly sank into a kitchen chair, her mind whirling - missing, not - not wanted. They'd had enough time to cover their tracks and get away, and she couldn't regret the fierce swell of satisfaction in her chest. "You don't seem surprised," Jack said, shrewdly, and Molly closed her eyes and shook her head.

"He normally calls, every other night - but he hasn't..."

"We have on record that he called you the day before the operation - did he mention anything?"

Molly made a face, shaking her head. "Nothing - nothing important," she said, because it was almost true. "I'd just moved back in - we talked about Walter, and his school, and the dogs..."

Jack said, "I'm sorry," and Molly wondered if he was going to bring up Hannibal Lecter, or anything at all, but he ducked his head and stepped back toward the door. "I'll let you know if anything changes."

"Please," Molly said, "just call." She looked at Jack, whose expression had turned worn, regretful, and she added, resolute, "I'd prefer it."

Jack inclined his head, and Molly saw him out the door; she closed her eyes as she leant against the door and slid to the floor, and hoped - prayed - that Will knew what he was doing, that he was okay.

She received a postcard two weeks later, and it helped. But she couldn't help but wonder.

 

It was just past midnight when the doorbell rang. She'd been sitting in bed, the light on, reading a novel when it happened, and some of the dogs perked up, Winston half-risen to his feet. "Shh, shh," she soothed, "I'll go check on it," and she slid the pistol out from under her pillow as she stepped out of bed and padded to the door. 

The first thing she saw when she opened the door was Will. He looked - tanned, healthy. There was a tightness to the edge of his eyes that softened when she let the gun fall to her side, her breath catching in her throat. "Hi," he said, and she couldn't do anything but smile at him, stupidly, thoughtlessly. He was smiling, too.

"You're - you can't stay long?" she asked, and Will slid a glance to the shadow over his shoulder, Lecter's hair reflective in the light from the doorway.

"Just for a while," Will said, his smile twisting slightly, the corners of his mouth turning down. "It's not... I wanted to see you."

Lecter said, his accent rounding the words, "May we come in?"

"Oh," Molly said on an exhale, "of course." She stepped aside, and Will brushed her hand with his as he passed her in the doorway. Lecter was studying the house with interest as he followed Will inside, and Molly swallowed, feeling a strange tight anticipation in her chest as she closed the door behind her.

She caught up with them in the kitchen. Lecter's gaze was drawn away from the kitchen paraphernalia, the postcards stuck in neat lines on the fridge by Will's hand on his shoulder, something achingly familiar in the shade of his expression as Will murmured in his ear. Molly said, hesitating, "The spare room is upstairs, if you..." and they exchanged a glance, and Will nodded.

"Thank you," he said, and Lecter inclined his head and headed up the stairs. Will was looking around the kitchen, at all the things that had and hadn't changed, and Molly felt the months between them like a physical distance even as she tried to reach across. 

"Jack only came by, once," she said, carefully, "and he hasn't been back. I think - it should be safe."

"I don't want you to have to leave," Will said. There was a difference in him, Molly thought; he seemed more settled in his skin. "Hannibal and I - we'll just stay here for a week or two." He smiled, wry. "We should have enough of a head start."

"Okay," Molly said, and closed her eyes for a moment. Will's hand found her own, their fingers entangling, rings bumping, and she looked up to meet his smile. "I missed you."

Will studied her. He had always been extraordinarily perceptive, and now, Molly thought, it was sharpened like a blade. "I missed you, too," he said, and she couldn't help her smile, despite feeling somewhat lost. "Molly..."

She kissed him, because he was there and because she could. He closed his eyes as their mouths met, his hand coming to rest at the back of her neck as her fingers fisted in his shirt, and when they pulled apart he stayed there, forehead against hers, their breath intermingling. Molly wondered if she'd been the last person he kissed, or if - and she waited, but all she felt was an odd resignation. "I love you," she said again, and Will squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head.

"You don't know me," he said. "I've changed."

"I loved you, then," Molly said, intent, and she kept her grip on him when he tried to move away. "I loved you, you were someone I loved - and you're still that person. I'm still that person. Even though we've changed."

"Even though," Will repeated, and she could see the gentling of his eyes, the softness to the edge of his smile. "You've been well?"

Molly smiled, pressed her lips to his cheek, and rose from the table, putting some space between them as she started putting old dishes away. "It's been quiet," she said, and raised her eyebrows, shot a glance up the stairs. "And you and...?"

Will got her implication, but he shook his head, a strange expression on his face. "I didn't think," he said, and his gaze landed on the fridge. "He's been writing to you?"

"Nothing important," Molly said, "but it's been revealing, all the same. Will," she added, teasing, "have you been stringing the poor man along?"

Smiling a little, Will ducked his head, but his tone was more thoughtful when he said, "Perhaps he likes you."

"Never more than you," Molly said. "Come on, let's go to bed. You can work out what to tell Walter in the morning."

 

Will had hovered in the doorway to their old bedroom for more than a minute, greeting the dogs who had all dashed toward him as soon as he appeared, before Molly had taken pity and said, "We have more than one spare room, you know." He'd pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth and went, and though she could still hear the low murmur of voices from upstairs and the dogs were far too excited to calm down in any haste, Molly went back to bed and fell asleep, exhausted beyond measure.

In the morning, she'd risen to the smell of eggs cooking, and she was still tying up her hair when she wandered back into the kitchen to find Lecter at the stove, her apron reappropriated. "I apologise for the intrusion," he said, his voice pitched barely above the sound of the sizzling pan. "Will mentioned you wouldn't mind."

"Oh, no," Molly said, shaking her head, and smiled, a little off-balance. "I - Will said you were practically a professional in the kitchen."

"Only your provided ingredients," he said, as he spooned some onto a plate, "I promise." There was a glint of light humor in his expression that had her laugh, if shakily.

"I don't have much of a leg to stand on, do I?" she said. "I went out of my way to hunt that man down." And Hannibal Lecter, whatever he was or had been, was still the man with whom Will was so fatefully intertwined; even before they were married, Will would look strangely wistful, strangely lost. Now he was better: more self-assured, more himself, and Molly couldn't feel much beyond the sorrow that she hadn't been able to help. "I thought Will was going to taunt him out and I just..."

"Thank you," Lecter said, and when she looked up at him in surprise, he set a plate down in front of her. He looked sincere, and a world away from the picture of him in the paper all those years ago, face as cold as stone when he was muzzled and carted away. With only that, she had wondered what had drawn Will to him so indubitably; now, she thought she could see. "I don't know how it may have gone differently, but... I believe this worked out for the best."

"Yes," Molly said, "and, thank you." She didn't need to explain; Lecter would know. 

He inclined his head, and said, "Just a protein scramble to start the day."

"Protein?" Will asked, tone quelling even as he rubbed at his eyes as he came down the stairs. His hair was a mess, he had a day's worth of stubble on his face, and for just a moment Molly thought she could see all of her feelings stark on Lecter's face before he hid them away. 

"Nothing untoward, I assure you," Lecter said. He turned away, but when Will passed they brushed shoulders, hands, and Molly gave Will a pointed look as he sat at the table that made him smile. Lecter gave Will a plate, and one for himself, and added, "As I already told your wife."

There were a million problems lingering in the back of Molly's mind, not least explaining Will and Lecter's presence to Walter when he arose, but right then, she realised, she couldn't care less. Perhaps what she'd grown to consider family would expand, with Lecter's presence in their lives; perhaps she'd feel lonely and left out when they inevitably left to stay out of the authorities' grasp, but they'd come here first. They'd come again.

"It's Molly," she said, "please."


End file.
